


Where You Go, I Go

by jeweldancer



Series: Where You Go, I Go [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Injury to characters, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4272555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeweldancer/pseuds/jeweldancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean and Sam Winchester show up at a college professor's office, requesting information about ancient lore, she helps them out and ends up becoming involved with Dean. There will be several parts of this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where You Go, I Go

Dean shifted carefully on the sofa, trying to get comfortable without waking her. She had been leaning on his shoulder long enough that his arm was completely asleep. He finally managed to find an acceptable position, moving inch by inch, breathing a sigh of relief when she continued sleeping undisturbed. She was exhausted after a long day in the library, finding information for a couple of hunter friends of the Winchesters. 

She never imagined where her skills might take her back when she was earning her graduate degree, but it seemed that her life had actually begun the day Dean and Sam Winchester had ambled into her office. They were searching for information on an ancient Sumerian fertility goddess, and she was the only one in the Anthropology department that Saturday morning. Unfortunately her specialty was rural Appalachian religion and superstitions, so she was of absolutely no use at all. The shorter brother gave her a card with his number in case she "remembered anything", and when she turned it over, he had written the name of their motel and room number. Her cheeks turned red as fire, although she almost never blushed. The nerve of that bastard, but it was undoubtedly flattering. She had never been a beauty, and though she took great care with her clothing and makeup for her own benefit, she couldn't remember the last time a man looked at her twice. 

By lunchtime, she had convinced herself--sort of-- that he had only been making it easier to find him with information. She spent the entire afternoon scouring the department library for a book containing the information they wanted, and after reapplying lipstick and mascara, tracked them down at their motel. She stopped at the motel office and called their room instead of knocking on their door, just in case they turned out to be psychos. Unfortunately, the night ended with her helping with an exorcism that was getting a bit out of hand. After everything was over, her first though was of the poor library book's welfare, a sentiment that forever endeared her to Sam. After what she witnessed, the brothers' explanation of their "family business" no longer seemed that odd. Their subsequent departure left her strangely bereft; her academic job, tiny apartment, and nonexistent love life felt stifling. The brothers had kept in touch--Sam for information on esoteric old mythologies, Dean to talk about music and any other topic that came to mind--and eventually Dean had shyly asked her to visit. 

She must have been crazy, she had never done anything like this, she kept telling herself as she boarded a plane to meet Dean in Missouri. She apologized for bringing two suitcases, but she hadn't known what she would need for the trip, and having all her stuff eased her anxiety about what might happen. Dean had grinned and replied that when you had a pretty girl with you, who cared how much stuff she brought? He tossed her bags in the back seat of the Impala, and off they went to a cabin in the mountains. She had always been responsible, had never done anything so stupid, but as they pulled out of the airport parking lot, she felt giddy with freedom. 

She hadn't needed all those clothes, it turned out. Even her swimsuit didn't get used, as the location was remote enough to make swimming naked in the lake possible. In between they lay in bed and talked about everything, no holds barred. 

They each had their own crosses to bear. Dean's trauma and family issues, her chronic depression and anxiety. But together, everything seemed lighter. Dean had never had a vacation before, and silently worried the whole time that work would interfere, but things went smoothly. Well, there had been the one werewolf showing up at the back door, but she had slept through that. 

The morning he had to leave and meet Sam for another job, neither could bear to leave their warm bed for breakfast. They stared up at the ceiling intently as if the answers were written there. Dean felt the minutes slide away from him, and knew if he said nothing that she would go back to her life. Maybe he'd never see her again, and spend the rest of his days with intense regret. With the kind of life he led, who knows how much longer he'd have to experience happiness? Feeling as if his voice was coming from someone else, he blurted out, "I would rather chop off both my arms with an axe than take you back to that airport." 

She considered his words in silence, her face blank. "That's impossible," she finally said. "What, wait, what's impossible?" Dean pushed himself up on one arm to study her stern expression. "To cut off both your arms with an axe. I mean, the first arm would probably go okay, but when you went to cut off the other one you wouldn't have an arm to hold the axe in..." She was starting to snicker hysterically when Dean stopped her by slamming his lips against her mouth. When he broke away, she gasped, "You son of a bitch. I thought this was just some fling for you. I thought I was going to have to let you drop me off to catch that fucking plane with a smile on my face while you just stomped my heart into the ground. I don't want to leave you right now. Maybe not ever." 

"You should get on that plane, you know. I'm a hunter, not some lawyer or fucking accountant. This life is dangerous and messy and insane. If I were a better man I'd have done what you just said." 

"Fuck you, Dean Winchester, just fuck you, okay? I have never done anything stupid in my life, I've went to my job and saved my money and stayed away from men so they wouldn't hurt me, and you know what I've got to show for it? A shitty apartment that I sit in alone. I drive to work alone and eat dinner alone and go grocery shopping alone and sleep alone. If I were to disappear, no one would miss me. Hell, when I pass a fucking mirror, it surprises me that I still have a reflection. I want to feel something, Dean, and I know that's a huge fucking risk, but I think you're my last chance. And I don't think my life will be worth living if I let you go." She looked down shyly. "That is, if you want me." 

"I want you."

Dean ended up having to call Sam and explain that he was going to be a couple hours late. As they sped down the highway toward Arkansas, she made calls--one to pay her rent for the next couple of months, another to finalize her leave of absence from the college so that she could work on her new book about rural American superstitions. She felt bad about lying to the department head about her sudden family emergency, but her TA was perfectly capable of finishing up the last two weeks of classes anyway. She made another call to her startled next-door neighbor and offered him $100 dollars to water the plants in her apartment indefinitely.

Sam was waiting impatiently in a crappy diner, drinking coffee and not noticing the teenage waitress staring at him. He would always remember their self-satisfied expressions as they slid in the booth across from him, like kids that had skipped out of school. Dean would remember that dumbass look on Sam's face forever. "Sammy, I'd like you to meet my girl." "Nice to see you again, but we've met before." "Not when she was my girl, you haven't."

She fit into their world with unexpected simplicity. She and Sam made an unbeatable research team. She had an incredible memory, enviable speed-reading skills, and she could stay buried in a dusty old book long after Dean's eyes would have crossed. Research had provided her with a way to make a real contribution to their work, without placing her directly in harm's way. When they were gone on a hunt, she worked on her own writing. Her book was coming along, and she had sold some articles. It was important to her to have her own money, though Dean would have given her his last dime without a thought, or stolen anything she wanted. 

She cared for their various injuries, calmly and capably. Thankfully, blood had never bothered her. She did steadfastly refuse to do more than her fair share of any domestic duties. "I'm not your little homemaker," she said curtly. "I've never been good at that shit." "Well, then, I suppose it's your worst nightmare to have ended up with two husbands," Sam retorted. "Hush your mouth! Never say such a terrible thing," she replied, shaking with laughter. 

Good as it all was, Dean would have done without any of it, as long as he could keep the times when he came back to wherever they were staying and climbed in her bed. They held each other as long as possible every night, knowing full well each time could be the last. "But that's how it is for everyone," she whispered. "They just don't realize it." She held Dean after his nightmares, even though he sometimes could barely tell anymore which were dreams and which were reality. He comforted her through her darkest nights, when breathing was something that took all her effort, and it felt like the ceiling was closing in on her. 

He didn't expect that she would stay with him. At first Dean had described each new destination to her with studied casualness, asking her if she wanted to come along. Every time his chest was so tight he could hardly breathe as he braced himself for the inevitable. One day he was babbling on about how beautiful South Dakota was when she started giggling uncontrollably. She knew exactly what his game was, and the sudden relief of not having to pretend made Dean break down with hysterical laughter as well. They laughed until both were lying back on the couch with tears rolling down their faces. As they trailed off into silence, she leaned over and took Dean's face in her hands. "Where you go, I go." 

Dean clasped her to him like a drowning man, afraid he would cry for real this time. After a long moment of holding each other tightly, she kissed the underside of his jaw and whispered, "Make me a willow cabin at your gate, and call upon my soul within the house." She was so close that he could feel her breath on his neck as she spoke, and the words nearly made his heart stop. When he could finally speak, he asked, "What is that, Shakespeare?" She nodded. "Twelfth Night." 

Dean sat up and held her shoulders at arms length so he could look into her eyes. "Entreat me not to leave thee, for whither thou goest, I will go, and your people will be my people." She smiled gently, with tears in her eyes. "Ruth." "Yeah."

That was their understanding from then on, with little further discussion. Neither of them were big on what she referred to as "state of the union" talks about their relationship, anyway. In a way, that unexpected exchange had made Dean feel as though they were married, with vows more personal than any ceremony he had seen. Strangely enough, he found he liked the feeling, and occasionally referred to her as his wife in his thoughts. Dean did try halfheartedly to talk her out of staying a few times, in the interest of her safety, but she always placed her fingers on his lips and changed the subject.

Dean's reverie was interrupted by her sudden sharp intake of air, and her brown eyes opening to look into his. "Hey," she murmured in that slightly deep voice she always had upon awakening. "Was I out long? Your arm is probably asleep." She sat up and motioned for him to lay his head on her lap. "Your turn." Dean sank down and half closed his eyes with pleasure as she stroked his hair. 

After a while, she cleared her throat and said she needed to ask him for a favor, her voice stuttering slightly as she often did when nervous. He replied "Anything," without hesitation. "If we have a couple of days before the next hunt. . .could you maybe teach me to shoot?" 

This got Dean's full attention. While she had allowed him to teach her some self defense tactics, she had always drawn the line at learning how to use a firearm. "I am not a hunter," she would say firmly. "And I hate guns." She refused to even touch one, and became uncomfortable when a gun was near. She never volunteered the reason for her aversion, and Dean didn't pry, instead teaching her other ways to defend herself. 

He pushed himself up from her lap and looked into her eyes. "Of course I will," he replied quietly. "But you need to tell me why you changed your mind." She chewed on her lip for a good thirty seconds before she blurted out, "What would I do if you didn't come back one day?" Dean's chest hurt suddenly. "No. No. I don't want you hunting down whatever thing kills me. I don't want you living that life and risking getting hurt to avenge me. It's not..."

"Wait," she pleaded. "It's not that. I've always said I'm not a hunter, and I haven't changed my mind. I couldn't do that. It's more for...taking care of myself." 

Dean was relieved. He had often worried about what would happen to her if he died while on a hunt. Sammy had promised to look after her if needed, but if they both died, she would be left defenseless. He smiled and reached for her hands. "We'll start tomorrow."

The next evening, Dean opened a beer and flopped down on the couch across from Sam. "You should've seen her, Sammy," he bragged. "She's a natural. Not long before she'll be better than us." Sam grinned at her. "Next time I'll come with you guys and see. You gonna stay and eat? It'll be done in 10 minutes or so." 

"Hell, yes, I'm always up for food. But if we're gonna have a real dinner, I'm gonna shower first." Dean jumped up and headed to his bedroom for some clean clothes to put on. After turning on the shower, he remembered his beer sitting on the coffee table and padded back down the hallway to get it. Beer and a hot shower, what better combination? He stopped outside the doorway of the kitchen, smiling while listening to her boast of the day's exploits to Sam. 

"Seriously?" Sam was laughing. "You grew up in the South and you've never handled a gun til now?" "Well, yeah. I mean, my cousins were always pestering me to learn, and my dad even bought me a handgun and a rifle. I guess he thought I might get interested if I had a gun of my own."

"So, if I can ask...why didn't you? I mean, you've got steady hands and nerves of steel in a bad situation. It's obvious you'd be good at it." Sam saw the distant look on her face and immediately started apologizing. "I'm really sorry, that's none of my--"

"It's okay, Sam. It's just that I never told anyone before." She rubbed her forehead, wincing. "You know, used to things were not so good, like..." she gestured toward her temple, "...here. I mean, I had severe depression. I still deal with it, but then it was really bad. And I always had this fear that if I could easily access a gun, I'd use it. On myself." 

Out in the hall, Dean's knees nearly gave way beneath him. He sank to the floor with his head in his hands. No matter what, he could never unhear that. He didn't know how to deal with that information. 

"Holy shit. I'm sorry. I didn't know that." Sam reached out and placed his hand on top of hers. "I'm glad you're better, but I'm really sorry. And I want you to know you can talk to me anytime. For real." 

"Thanks. And I know it's silly, I mean if I'd really wanted to die I would've found a way, right? It's just that anytime I saw a gun I could picture myself doing it so easily, and I figured it would be best to just stay the hell away." 

"I'm glad you stayed. Really, really glad. You're a beautiful person, and you've made such a difference to us. Dean's never been happier and calmer, and I feel like you're part of the family. Speaking of, I wish you'd tell Dean what you just told me. I feel like it's right for him to know."

"Maybe sometime. I don't want to worry him like that, you know? He's always got a lot on his mind. Thanks for listening to me." Sam squeezed her hand again and got up to check the oven. "Anytime, sweetheart." "Sam? Let me know if you ever need to talk, too." Sam looked at her questioningly. "C'mon, I can tell you've been there. Only people who have can talk so casually about suicide. It's the normal people who get hysterical about it. The rest of us understand." She slid out of her chair and shuffled over to the door. "I think I'll change before dinner, too."

Dean used every bit of strength he had to scramble up to his feet before she walked into the hall. She stopped in surprise. "Hey, baby. I thought you were in the shower." Dean forced himself to smile. "Maybe I was lonely in there." 

"I can fix that." She extended her hand. "Lead on, babe. I'll follow."

 

And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go... Ruth 1:16


End file.
